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<title>hold me down (and love me more than anyone) by blackwood (transjon)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005395">hold me down (and love me more than anyone)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood'>blackwood (transjon)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>XXmin sprint fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ficlet, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Subspace, Vignette, its just very tender ok, martin scruffs jon like hes a cute little kitten ok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:09:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay?” Martin asks. His voice is as soft as his palm resting over Jon’s neck, light and loose in its grasp, fingers splayed wide, pointing outward.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Jon says, raspy and low.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>XXmin sprint fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>272</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hold me down (and love me more than anyone)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title is from bruno is orange by hop along which ive been listening on a loop for the last 3 hours now!</p>
<p>i am once again writing sprint fics.......30 mins this time!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martin’s hand comes to rest on the back of his neck.</p>
<p>It’s big. Jon knows from experience he can close it around his neck with ease, the gentle bend and grasp of his long, thick fingers, the gentle cup of his palm around the bone and skin and tendon, the pulse of his blood. He’s not going to, not today, but he knows he could. He knows that he can, and that he will if Jon asks, and only if Jon asks. </p>
<p>“Okay?” Martin asks. His voice is as soft as his palm resting over Jon’s neck, light and loose in its grasp, fingers splayed wide, pointing outward.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Jon says, raspy and low. Martin’s fingers close slowly, slow, slow, fingers making contact with his skin one at a time, fingertip by fingertip. Goosebumps. Jon’s vaguely aware of Martin tracing a slow circle on the center of his back with the knuckles of his other hand, folded into a loose fist, calm and wide. </p>
<p>“Good,” Martin says when his fingers come to a rest, the tip of his middle finger coming almost to settle on Jon’s exposed clavicle. His voice, too, is going soft, although there is firm confidence behind it. Jon shivers, and when Martin gently, gently takes a firm, enveloping hold of his neck and carefully presses down, makes the nonverbal suggestion for Jon to go down, Jon goes with it. His body feels heavy, easy, pliant, and collapsing onto his side seems like the loveliest of ideas. He would go wherever Martin wants him to. </p>
<p>Martin shushes him, gentle and patient, and something comes over him, then. It feels like a gentle, heavy blanket being laid over him, and when the gentle press and hold of Martin’s hand on his neck goes uncomfortable from the angle and the unsteady descent onto his side he whines, and Martin reaches his arm around him, hand settling on his soft, vulnerable belly to drag him closer so that he can rearrange his limbs carefully, gently. He pulls him close enough for it that Jon can feel his soft belly against his back while he does it, warm and comfortable. He feels grounded. He feels like he’s floating. He imagines his body as a doll’s body, joints popping into the sockets gently and without trouble, easy and comfortable. When Martin puts pressure on his neck again he keeps a loose arm wrapped around his middle, Jon’s arms folded so that his forearms fold at his sides, elbows bent and gentlying his fall. </p>
<p>It’s good, this time. Jon’s chest hits the mattress, and then he keeps going down, knees splaying open, hips coming to rest on the soft bed – his shoulders; his wrists, and then finally, finally his cheek. </p>
<p>“Feeling alright?” Martin asks. He pulls his arm away, and the absence of his skin against Jon’s belly feels horrible, feels empty, feels lonely, and he whines low in his throat. “I know,” Martin says, sympathetic and gentle. He reaches his hand to his side, strokes over his ribs with his open palm. Enough pressure to feel real. Light enough to not make him squirm away from the pressure. </p>
<p>Jon nuzzles his face into the bed. His eyes close. He feels very heavy. </p>
<p>“Good boy,“ Martin says, and the mattress next to Jon dips as Martin settles on his knees next to him. Jon whines, feeling horribly light and empty and unbalanced. The hand on the back of his neck tenses, relaxes again, and Jon scrambles internally to focus on it as much as he can. Martin’s knee knocks against his back lightly as he moves to straddle the small of Jon’s back, weight settling there. </p>
<p>Jon moans despite himself. Martin puts most of his weight onto his legs, on his knees, and when he’s settled he leans forward, chest pressing to Jon’s back, broad and soft and warm and so, so gratifying. Heavy and enveloping and safe. He thinks after the Buried he shouldn’t like this, but Martin presses a long, sweet kiss to the back of his head and Jon’s breath comes out ragged at the way it makes him move and shift on top of him, pressure moving and resettling. Martin settles his head on Jon’s shoulder blades, and his back must be arched for this, probably uncomfortable, but Martin gives him little pleased sighs, just for him, and Jon purrs deep in his throat, happy and only barely present anymore. </p>
<p>“How do you feel?” Martin finally asks. Jon’s sleepy and alert and light and heavy all at once, and the words feel like they’re coming from very far away. He’s not sure how long it’s been, or if they’re still where they’d started off, although the room smells the same, the bed feels the same, the filtered sunlight feels the same in hair. He makes a sound he thinks might be a rough approximation of the vague concept of words. Martin kisses the back of his neck right above his own hand, the little exposed bit of skin below his hairline, and against the skin there says “words, lovely boy.”</p>
<p>“Safe,” Jon says. His tongue feels heavy. The sound of his own voice sounds foreign. His world has pinpointed to the weight of Martin’s body on his. His body as a phrase sounds foreign, too. Surely everything he has is Martin’s, now, including his body. He wiggles his fingers carefully. They still obey him fine. He feels like maybe they shouldn’t, and frowns. Martin kisses him again, and again, and again, and Jon’s fingers still, and his face relaxes again, muscles going one by one until he feels light and pliant and loose again.</p>
<p>If Martin says anything in response Jon doesn’t hear it. The world slows down until all there is are Martin’s hands, his body, his breathing against Jon’s back. “I love you,” he says, thick and slowed to half speed in his mouth. </p>
<p>“Oh, Jon,” Martin says against his back, and then sighs. The movement makes him shiver. That, too, feels gentle. “I love you too.”</p>
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